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O! ADMIRAL HOSIER's GHOST,
was written by the ingenious author of LEONIDAS, on tbe taking of Porto Bello from the Spaniards by Admiral Vernon, Nov. 22. 1739.-The case of Hofer, which is berejo pathetically represented, was briefly this. In April, 1726, that commander was sent with a furong fleet into the Spanish Weft-Indies, to block up the galleons in the ports of that country, or should ihey presume to come out, to seize and carry them into England: be accordingly arrived at the Bastimentos near Porto Bello, but being restricted by his orders from obeying the dietates of his courage, lay inactive on that station until he became the jest of the Spaniards : he afterwards removed to Carthagena, and continued cruizing in these feas, till far the greater part of his men perished deplorably by the diseases of that unhealthy
climate. This brave man, seeing bis best officers and men thus daily swept away, his ships exposed to inevitable destruction, and himself made the sport of the enemy, is said to have died of a broken heart. See Smola
The following song is commonly accompanied with a Second Part, or Answer, which being of inferior merit, and appa. tently written by another hand, hath been rejected.
S near Porto-Bello lying
On the gently swelling flood,
There while Vernon fate all-glorious
From the Spaniards' late defeat; And his crews with shouts victorious,
Drank success to England's fleet:
On a sudden fhrilly founding,
Hideous yells, and shrieks were heard ; Then each heart with fear confounding,
A fad troop of ghosts appear'd, All in dreary hammocks shrouded,
Which for winding-sheets they wore, And with looks by forrow clouded
Frowning on that hostile shore.
On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre,
When the shade of Hosier brave
Rising from their watry grave :
Where the Burford * rear'd her fail,
And in groans did Vernon hail.
Heed, oh heed our fatal story,
I am Hofier's injur'd ghost,
where I was loft!
• The Admiral's pip.
Tho' in Porto-Bello's ruin
You now triumph free from fears, When you think on our undoing,
You will mix your joy with tears.
See these mournful spectres fweeping
Ghaftly o'er this hated wave,
These were English captains brave:
Those were once my sailors bold,
While his dismal tale is told.
I, by twenty fail attended,
Did this Spanish town affright; Nothing then its wealth defended But my
orders not to fight: Oh! that in this rolling ocean
I had caft them with disdain,
To have quell'd the pride of Spain !
For resistance I could fear none,
But with twenty fhips had done What thou, brave and happy Vernon,
Haft atchiev'd with fix alone.
Then the bastimentos never
Had our foul dishonour seen, Nor the sea the sad receiver
Of this gallant train had been.
Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying,
And her galleons leading home,
I had met a traitor's doom,
He has play'd an English part,
Of a griev'd and broken heart.
Here the bastimentos viewing
We recal our shameful doom,
Wander thro’ the midnight gloom.
O'er these waves for ever mourning
Shall we roam depriv'd of rest,
You neglect my just request;
When your patriot friends you see,
And for England sham'd in me.
THE END OF BOOK THE THIRD.